Chakra pulses through the strategy room like a living thing, so thick I can taste it—metallic and sharp, like blood on the tongue. Through my paper network, I feel five distinct signatures besides Hanzo's, each one a deadly star in my awareness. The Frost twins' chakra feels like winter itself: Yukio's sharp as hail, Yuki's smooth as black ice. The others remain in shadow, but their killing intent rolls off them in waves that make my hidden paper defenses tremble against my skin.

  Rain drums against the windows, but in here, the air is desert-dry. My throat constricts as Hanzo's fingers trace the map spread across the table. His touch lingers on the civilian sector—my old home, where everything changed.

  "Do you know why I've summoned you, little crane?" His voice carries that dangerous softness I've learned to fear. Through my blood-sensing technique, I feel his pulse: steady, controlled, predatory. "We've been monitoring certain... anomalies in the lower districts. Unexplained healings. Mysterious disappearances when our patrols get close."

  My heart skips—once, twice—before I force it back to its careful rhythm. Every drop of blood in my body screams to react, but I hold myself still. Healings. Disappearances. Could it be? After all this time?

  Yukio steps forward, his white hair gleaming in the lamplight. Frost crystals form with each breath he takes, turning the air around him into a miniature winter. "Nothing to say?" His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Strange. The reports suggested the target was quite vocal. Especially when treating the wounded."

  Target. The word hits like a senbon between the ribs. Through my network, I feel the guard rotation changing outside—more elite shinobi moving into position. No coincidence.

  "Perhaps," Yuki glides forward to stand beside her brother, ice crackling around her fingers like delicate jewelry, "we should demonstrate our newest technique. Lord Hanzo has granted us permission to be... thorough."

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  The temperature plummets, but it's not their ice that freezes my blood. My eyes catch on the map's details—red marks dotting the lower districts. Healing sites. My mind overlays them with the mental map I've made of my blood-sensor network throughout the city.

  They match perfectly.

  Hanzo's mask turns toward me. I can't see his expression, but I feel his satisfaction in the quickening of his pulse. "You see it now, don't you? The pattern. Your little paper cranes aren't the only things that have been carrying messages through my city."

  My heart pounds against my ribs like a trapped bird. Years of practice are all that keep my blood pressure steady, my chakra signature unremarkable. One slip, one moment of lost control, and everything I've hidden will be exposed.

  "I don't understand, Hanzo-sama." I bow my head, letting my rain-damp hair fall forward to hide my eyes. Through my lashes, I watch their feet, tracking positions, measuring distances. "Have I done something wrong?"

  "Not yet." His hand lands on my shoulder—heavy, painful, a predator's grip on prey. Through my paper defenses, I feel the killing intent in his touch. "But you will have a choice to make tonight. You see, we've located one of these mysterious healers. And you're going to help us question them."

  The words strike like physical blows. My blood-sensing network pulses with information: more guards in the corridors, medical equipment being prepared in the interrogation chambers below. If they've found my parents—if this is another of Hanzo's elaborate tests—

  "Unless," Yuki's voice cuts through the air like a frozen blade, "you have something to tell us first? About blood techniques, perhaps?"

  I raise my eyes to meet their predatory gazes. Hanzo's masked face, the Frost twins' cruel smiles, the shadowed figures whose killing intent fills the room like smoke. Through my network, I feel every heartbeat, every pulse of chakra, every drop of blood in their bodies.

  Mother's final words whisper through my memory, not just about the rain telling stories, but something else. Something crucial:

  Sometimes the best defense is to become the storm.

  As thunder rolls across Amegakure's steel sky, I feel my blood sing with possibility. They think they're the hunters, but they've forgotten something important about storms:

  They don't just destroy. They transform.